


Once Upon a Time: Dog (Revisited)

by tklivory



Series: Fractured Thedas Tales [13]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Humor, Parody, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mabari: your constant companion, loyal friend, and, sometimes, inconvenient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time: Dog (Revisited)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wyl/gifts).



Spawn-Killer woke with a start, his sense of _world not right_ tearing him from the peaceful Grey Lands where he played with his litter-mates. He shook his head and heaved himself to his feet, trying to figure out where this sense of _wrong_ came from.

First he went to investigate the Smelly Snorer, who was usually responsible for disruptions of sleep in the evening. Tonight, however, he was lying on his side, snorting and scratching himself quite brazenly, and muttering, “Nug humper,” continually under his breath.

 _So_ he _is not the one who disturbs the night._

Next, he trotted over to Cheese-Eater, awake and staring at the fire. When he came up to his side, the Eater bared his teeth (in the manner that Spawn-Killer had learned meant friendliness rather than hostility). “Oh, hello, boy. Making the nightly rounds, I see.”

Spawn-Killer allowed the Eater to scratch behind his ears, understanding the poor two-legger didn’t know properly how to greet him. Of course, two-leggers were very odd in that regard, rubbing forepaws together rather than sniffing at the Source of Life. _How am I supposed to know your worth if I cannot determine the number and nature of your mates?_ It was a continual mystery. Leaning into the scratches, he whuffed, _“I am ensuring our companions are not disturbed in their time of vulnerability. Is it safe? I heard a noise.”_

“Good boy,” the Cheese-Eater responded.

After a good long glare, he heaved a sigh and moved away. As usual, this two-legger was not much help.

Perhaps the Singer would help. His ears perked forward as he headed around the fire, following a light floral scent for his next destination. Though she was as ignorant of proper etiquette as all two-leggers were, she, at least, had nails long enough to penetrate his scruff of fur and properly attend to his itches.

Alas, the Singer was asleep, already playing with her own litter-mates as she wandered the Grey Lands. Still... he moved next to her and nudged the pink bulge sticking out of the blanket it was bundled into next to the supine two-legger.

 _“What? What? What? Is the Smelly Snorer after me?”_ Fierce Pink Terror started from her sleep, legs twitching as if she were ready to run from the Snorer as soon as she awoke. They stopped moving when she noticed who had awoken her. _“Killer! Are you all right? Nothing’s happened, has it?”_ An odd little wibbling sound came from her. _“The Darkspawn haven’t suddenly acquired a taste for nug, have they?”_ Her eyes widened. _“Quick! To fangs! To fangs!”_

 _“No, no, nothing like that,”_ he growled softly, and she relaxed. _“I was just making sure the Singer is doing well.”_

 _“Oh! Oh oh oh, yes, of course!”_ The long pink snout turned towards the Singer and snuffled, long ears twitching. _“Mother’s fine.”_ She looked at him, and wiggled slightly, glad to have been of assistance. _“Can I go back now?”_

 _“Yes, return to your litter-mates in the Grey Lands. Thank you.”_ He trotted on, leaving Fierce Pink Terror to her happy slumber.

Then he heard it: that sound that cut across the night and through battlefields, that could pull him from a solid sleep no matter what the hour: a loud, drawn-out groan from He Who Must Be Obeyed! With a sudden bark, he tore across the camp and into the woods beyond, barking and growling in an effort to rouse everyone about the _something wrong_ as he honed in on its source.

He skidded to a halt when he found He Who Must Be Obeyed, naked and defenseless, being... attacked by... Blinking, he tilted his head and watched as She of the Frost, also naked and defenseless, continued her rather intense greeting in the proper fashion of the Mabari. In fact, she seemed to be using far more than just her nose, combining the Mabari greeting of sniffing at the Source of Life with the two-legger tradition of rubbing forepaws together, except her hands were rubbing his Source. Sitting down, he tilted his head and gruffed, _“Why does_ she _get to greet you that way when even I can’t? And why do you allow her to lick the Source?”_

She of the Frost pulled abruptly back from He Who Must Be Obeyed, making him moan again, and this time there was definitely something _wrong_ in that sound. “Andraste’s flaming knickers!” His hands went to his Source of Life, and he ended up curled on his side and groaning in pain.

“Oh, that mangy hound!” she cried, but Spawn-Killer refused to be distracted by compliments. If she were causing harm to He Who Must Be Obeyed...

He felt much better about the whole situation when some of the others arrived, weapons drawn, in answer to his call: the Cheese-Eater and Stoic One entered the clearing, ready to defend the companions. He barked a greeting at them, then turned back and began growling at She of the Frost. He stopped growling, though, when the Cheese-Eater began howling, teeth bared in a fashion that meant amusement. Puzzled, Spawn-Killer turned to face him, tilting his head and whining, _“What? She hurt him!”_

“You can all bloody go to the Fade!” She of the Frost snapped before blurring into the form of a raven and flying into the darkness of the forest around them.

 _“And don’t think you can hurt him again!”_ he barked after her, then trotted to the side of the groaning two-legger to make sure he was all right. He could always go and fetch the Dry Old Bat if He Who Must Be Obeyed needed her blue warmth to make him better...

“Oh, Maker, Aedan, I am _so_ sorry,” the Eater said from behind him. “He just started barking like mad, and, well, usually that means--” The Eater began making odd noises, and Spawn-Killer knew without looking that his teeth were bared again. “I suppose, in his defense, you _were_ making some very odd noises.”

“Shut up, Alistair,” He Who Must Be Obeyed grunted as he rolled into a sitting position. Spawn Killer began licking his arm and shoulder in relief at seeing him in one piece. “You mangy mutt, what am I going to do with you?” He grabbed Spawn-Killer’s jaw in one hand and shook it a bit. “She wasn’t hurting me, you silly fleabag. She was... ah...”

“Polishing your blade? Twirling your pike? Spitting your--”

“Shut _up_ , Alistair,” he growled. “Maker, Oghren’s been a bad influence on you.” Sighing, he put his forehead on Spawn-Killer’s head. “Look, I’m just going to have to ask you to trust me. When I’m with Morrigan at night, you need to leave us alone. All right?”

“It is foolishness,” the Stoic One interjected. “Some day we will not respond to your outcry, and it will be an Ogre atop you rather than the witch.”

“Thank you oh so _very_ much for that lovely mental image, Sten,” He Who Must Be Obeyed drawled, “but I think I’d prefer to take my chances.” He stroked Spawn-Killer’s neck. “All right, boy?”

Spawn-Killer whined. _“He’s right! What if you’re hurt, but I don’t know to come?”_

“Don’t try to change my mind by sounding pathetic. This is how it has to be.” Spawn-Killer whined again, but eventually lowered his head and barked softly in agreement. After all, he _was_ He Who Must Be Obeyed. “Thank you. Of course, after tonight, we’ll see if she wants to--”

“Worship at your Altar?” the Eater said, teeth bared once more.

“Final warning!” He Who Must Be Obeyed barked, though his teeth were bared as well. “Go back to the fire, boy. I’ll be along in a minute.”

Dejected, Spawn-Killer turned and began to walk back to the fire, knowing he’d done something wrong, but not quite sure _what._

“Aww, he looks so sad.”

“He might forget next time if I don’t let him suffer a little bit. Sometimes he’s a bit... excitable.”

“Well, obviously so are you.”

“Alistair!”

Spawn-Killer looked up as some two-legger footsteps fell into place beside him. “You did the proper thing,” the Stoic One said. “Warrior to warrior, I tell you this. It is not your fault that he refuses sensible advice.”

 _“Sometimes he can be very confusing,”_ he growled.

“It is the lot of those who live without the Qun to be confused in this manner.” The warrior knelt and rested his hand on Spawn-Killer’s shoulder. “I return to the watch. You return to your rest. Sleep well knowing that you have fulfilled your duty, even if others have not.” Without another word, he stood and strode back to camp.

Spawn-Killer heaved a huge sigh and continued trudging back to the fire. Suddenly a tantalizing scent hit his keen nose, and he perked up alertly, sensing an opportunity. _Maybe it’s a bone!_ He broke into a run and headed towards the beguiling scent, eager for something that he could use as an apology.

A few minutes later, when he laid the somewhat battered but still delicious smelling cake at the feet of He Who Must Be Obeyed and waggled his tail eagerly, he barked, _“Look! I found something special for you!”_

The two-legger bared his teeth. “Ah, thank you, boy. It’s...lovely.”

World back to being _good_ , he trotted away. Now, if only he could figure out what to do with the half-rotten rabbit he’d found... Well, he _did_ still need to apologize to She of the Frost...

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Secret Santa gift exchange in the Cheeky Monkeys.


End file.
